• My wet lesbian tit massage

    I've been feeling really horny for dripping wet pussy lately. I can't explain it, I've just been overwhelmed by the need to suck on a pink, juicy clit and have its juices drip all over my face.

    Tonight it was within my grasp. It was more or less offered to me on a silver platter. Or so I thought...

    Just down the road from my flat is a really funky new florist, which I can't name for obvious reasons. It's only been open three months, but the owner has already made a name for herself. Not so much for the flowers she sells, but for the fact that she's a raging lesbian with a wandering eye. In fact, some of my friends who buy flowers from her will go as far as to say that she'd give you a beautiful tulip posy in exchange for a quick fingering out the back room. Their full of shit and exaggerating horrendously: it's £10 for a tulip bouquet and then she'll take you out back and finger you like a jackhammer.


    So I went into her shop yesterday on my home from work, and as soon as I saw her I knew she was a filthy bitch. She just had that persona; undeniably sexy and too quick with the lecherous, salacious comments. I mean, when you go in to buy some long stemmed-flowers, you don't want to suffer a barrage of sleazy asides about how to handle 'big stems' and where to stick them. Anyway, after beating around the bush for far too long, I suggested that she deliver the flowers to me this evening because I'm appalling when it comes to arranging flowers. She's not stupid; she knew there'd be pussy on the cards.

    The buzzer to my flat started blaring about 6.45pm, exactly the same time as I found myself slathered in Shea Butter bath crème and Frederic Fekkai hair conditioner. I leapt out of the bath, nearly colliding with the tiled floor as my wet feet skidded uncontrollably, and whipped on my Egyptian cotton bathrobe as I trotted toward the door. It was her, the filthy bitch had arrived with my flowers.

    As I buzzed her in and stood slightly chilled at the front door waiting for her to ascend the stairs to my flat, I suddenly felt a bit exposed, which is weird for me because I never feel like that. Especially when I know I'm gonna be fucked or eaten out. But when I saw her sleazy expression and slutty shirt, I thought it would be easy. I invited her in to the flat and closed the door behind me as she stood in the kitchen, watching my bathrobe fall suggestively off my left shoulder. Explaining that I was in the middle of a bath, she didn't seem perturbed. In fact, she nestled my 'big stems' in a nearby tumbler glass full of water and lent them temporarily in the sink. She then followed me into the bathroom and, to my surprise, took off my robe and motioned for me to get back in the bath.

    Excellent! I was so in the mood for some wet n' wild action, with or without soapy bubbles, but she didn't get in. Instead she reached for my shower puff and started sponging hot soapy water between my tits. It was ace at first, a slutty florist tending to my hard nipples and bulging tits, making the pulse in my clit throb hard and heavy. She continued to sponge water down the middle of my tits then she got a hand full of Shea Butter cream and began rubbing it over my chest, down my sides and back up the middle of my tits and around my neck. It was so fucking relaxing and horny, and all I wanted to do was open my legs and let her massage my pulsating pussy. But she didn't. I opened my eyes just in time to see her put my shower puff on the side of the bath and stand up.

    Apparently she had to get back to work, so she slid her tongue across my lips and slipped out of the bathroom. The next thing I heard was a clinking of glass in the kitchen as she transferred my flowers from the tumbler into a vase, and then she shut the flat door and left. I didn't need to get out of the bath to say goodbye to her because I know she'll be back. How do I know that? Because I've just placed an online order for a delivery of white roses, and this time she can arrange them in my bedroom...

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